I storm down the hallway to my room and slam the door as hard as I fucking can. It does nothing to relieve the pent-up anger and confusion. I pace the floor, the heels of my boots scuffing marks into the vinyl flooring. Everywhere I look, I see signs of what should be here…who was here.
I can’t be in this room. Don’t want these reminders, and yet I am drawn to be even closer to them. I leave my room and head toward Claire’s. As soon as I open the door, I can tell coming in here was a big mistake. The space still smells like her. The lavender baby lotion she rubs on Aurora before she goes to sleep.
The bed we slept in, talked in together for weeks, is neatly made, all traces of her, the long hair that spilled over those pillows, gone. There are no clothes in the closet, and even the crib is gone, now taking up space in a bedroom in my condo.
It’s as if they disappeared from my reality forever.
Just like my parents when I left.
But I know they aren’t here. They are out there somewhere, just like my mom and just like my old man.
I can’t be with them. I can’t be a part of whatever peaceful, sweet life they are making. I can’t be a part of the dark side of love, because no matter what we do, it’s always there. The broken parts inside us can’t be healed. They can only be hidden or buried, suppressed for a time. And then when they are triggered, they come out swinging.
And that is exactly what I intend to do. I need to hurt something, and I need to do it tonight.
I grab a baseball bat that I keep under my bed. I don’t want any guns, no weapons that can be traced back to the club. But I think back to the assholes who beat me down when we tried to collect what they owed us, and I know what I need to do.
I leave the compound through the front door, not saying goodbye to anyone. I ignore the heavy stares of Stella and Phantom and walk my way through the music and the laughter, the dancing and grinding, games and noise, like a robot programmed for one thing alone: destruction.
I fire up my truck and speed over to the other side of town. The entire drive, I can’t calm down. I can’t talk myself down from what I’m about to do. I don’t think about the consequences. Just like that night with my dad. I’m enraged and on fire, and I don’t know how toprocess what percolates inside me. I need to act, to hurt, to hit.
I’m gonna find the face of that punk-ass bitch who gave me a boot to the ribs, and I’m gonna start swinging.
I pull into a dark strip mall and park at the far end of the lot where I know the security cameras won’t pick up my truck. When I’m here on legit business, I want the assholes who do business with us to know exactly who is here and why. But I don’t want anything I do tonight to come back on the club.
I grab the baseball bat and picture the floor plan. There should be about twenty tables inside. It’s still early, so the place won’t be full yet. My mark usually rotates through the tables, playing where the cards are hot, so I’ll have to do some looking before I find him. That means I have to carry the bat in with me.
I didn’t fucking think this through. A single guy who looks like me carrying a baseball bat can’t just walk into an illegal betting operation and not bring a hell of a lot of heat down on him. Maybe that’s what I need. Maybe that’s what I deserve.
I clench the bat in my hands and swing, my blood pressure rising until I feel like I need to smash something. I’m so riled up, I don’t even hear the bike pulling up and parking next to my truck.
“Savage,” an angry voice snaps.
I close my eyes.Fuck. “This has nothing to do with the Heat,” I growl.
“The fuck it don’t.” Phantom’s off his bike, walkingtoward me at speeds I didn’t know the massive man had in him.
He shakes his head at me. “Since when do you go off on a solo operation?”
“Since fucking when do you follow me, huh?” I clench the bat tighter and hold it up like I’m still thinking about swinging.
“Since you fucking storm out of the compound with a goddamn baseball bat in your hand.” Phantom is a man of few words, but these land hard. He glares at me and shakes his head. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, but if you’re trying to get yourself killed and bring a hell of a lot of pain down on us, you better have a goddamn good reason why.”
I throw the bat down in fury and fist my hands. I land a punch on Phantom’s jaw before I realize what I’m doing. The sensation breaks the frenzy I’m in. Phantom staggers back, holding his jaw with a hand and looking at me like he’s ready to fucking murder me.
I hang my head and get ready to take it. “Do it,” I tell him. “Fuckin’ do it, man.”
Phantom shakes his head at me, then bends down and picks up the baseball bat. That startles me, because I expected an eye for an eye. But this? The bat could kill me. Phantom might actually want to fucking kill me after I socked him in the face.
My mind works at warp speed while I watch Phantom adjust his hands on the grip of the bat.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to leave Claire.
I don’t want to be hit.
I don’t want to cry.
